


In Whispering, Break

by Lilydancer



Series: Cum-Addict!Arthur-verse [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilydancer/pseuds/Lilydancer





	In Whispering, Break

****  
Title: In Whispering, Break ****  
'Verse: Cum-addict!Arthur  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Spoilers** : Brief mention of a character from S1, ep 2.  
 **Warnings** : See summary.  
 **Wordcount** : 3,403  
 **Summary** : Written for the following prompt at [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinkme_merlin**](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/) : _Arthur/Merlin, Arthur is a cum-addict because he's been sucking cock since he was young. Merlin tries to satisfy his cravings. Bonus points for a scene involving Merlin jerking off into Arthur's dinner and Arthur eating it with his fork and spoon. Would really love it if this plot remained in canon instead of AU or modern day._ Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/5454.html?thread=2129742#t2129742).  
 **Author's Notes** : Thanks to those who commented on the kink meme and especially to [](http://users.livejournal.com/tarot_card_/profile)[**tarot_card_**](http://users.livejournal.com/tarot_card_/) for hoping I would de-anon. Thanks also to the OP for the prompt!

 

“Arthur?”

 

“What is it Merlin, I haven’t got all day,” snapped Arthur. Again. He’d been snapping at Merlin _all week_ and Merlin was nearing the end of his tether – not that that had ever been that long to begin with, but he’d been trying to make exceptions after the incident with Lady Margaret (Arthur had not taken too well to wooing the widow, and even less well to her attempt on his life). Merlin thought he’d been doing pretty well, actually, what with Arthur being an even bigger prat than usual.

 

“You asked for me.” Merlin did his best to inject his frustration into his tone but Arthur seemed oblivious.

 

“My tunic needs cleaning. And polish my armour properly will you, you do realise it’s supposed to protect me? Have you seen some of these smudges, it’ll be a wonder if it doesn’t rust.”

 

Well. Merlin knew that was ridiculous because he’d cleaned all of Arthur’s armour with magic. He’d even reinforced the metal in case Arthur got into trouble when Merlin wasn’t there. But of course Arthur couldn’t know any of this, which only added to Merlin’s frustration.

 

“Maybe you should clean it yourself if I’m so incapable.” Even to his own ears, the sharp edge of hurt was blatantly clear, however much he’d intended to hide it. That caught Arthur’s attention, at least, and Merlin found himself confronted with Arthur’s sparking blue eyes, the tense lines of his face cast into relief by the dwindling fire.

 

Even as Arthur looked about to retort, he seemed to sag slightly – Merlin was sure if Arthur was aware he’d done it, it would be corrected before Merlin could blink – and turned away again. He marched back over to the fireplace, bracing himself with his hands on the mantle. Merlin waited, but Arthur seemed intent on silence. For all that Merlin could have taken two strides and touched Arthur, he felt as if an invisible wall shimmered between them, teasing him with the idea that he could help and then slamming into him with the bitter force that only helplessness had ever brought him. It was as though Arthur was the one with the magic and only he could create a door, a window, even a chink in the wall; and until he chose to do so, Merlin’s every attempt to scour it - to go around it or under it - would only result it a bigger, stronger, sturdier wall that Merlin couldn’t see but only feel and hope that he was feeling accurately.

 

And Merlin really hoped that he was sensing this accurately, because right now he felt, singing beneath his skin, a sort of reckless fiery hope that made him stay still, made him check his urge to speak, just a minute longer, letting the silence grow to awkward and fade to acceptably neutral. He just hoped that by not changing the subject when he usually would, he wouldn’t make things too awkward; because that wall had been growing recently and Merlin, for all the life of him, just could not understand _why_.

 

But Arthur seemed content to let the silence continue. Part of Merlin was glad he hadn’t been called on it, but most of him was worried. He couldn’t say he ever really understood Arthur, but he was starting to see what drove him and motivated him and even scared him. Merlin hadn’t felt so clueless since those early weeks, before Valiant and before they’d started saving each other’s lives.

 

Eventually the still silence began growing more awkward again; Merlin grew restless and the lines of Arthur’s body tightened. The fire was struggling now, and its sputtering flames only increased Merlin’s awareness of Arthur’s breathing, of his own heart pattering in his chest. The wall seemed immovable; the moment to try a thing of the past - and Merlin supposed he had to accept that. He murmured a quick good night to Arthur and scuffed his boots on the floor as he headed for the door.

 

“Wait.” It was quiet – barely there – and sounded to Merlin as though it had been wrenched from Arthur’s unwilling lips, but he turned back to face Arthur and kept quiet.

 

“I know… I know I have been a bit hard on you lately. My armour… was not that bad.”

 

This was another awkward moment for Merlin; did he push, now? They’d become closer over the past few months, there were things they shared as friends did. But Arthur was proud, and arrogant, and not as open as people thought. And these bridges, these half-apologies… Merlin couldn’t work out how fragile they were, or whether pushing would make them stronger or break them completely.

 

It was Arthur who broke the silence, moving to sprawl in his chair and decidedly not looking at Merlin before announcing that he was frustrated. Merlin knew there must be more to that than met the eye; he’d seen Arthur irritated and angry and annoyed more times than he cared to recall. Arthur frustrated was not this awkward, withdrawn man who could barely even look at him, uncomfortable in his own bedchambers.

 

Oh. Perhaps he meant…? That was one way the nobility described those feelings, wasn’t it?

 

Merlin knew he was blushing, the hot tingling sensation sweeping across his cheeks. He could barely stutter a reply that surely there must be many girls in the castle who would gladly sleep with their Prince if he asked, but at least his response got Arthur to look at him again, even if it was that look that said ‘You are an idiot and I don’t know why I put up with you’ but also ‘and yet I do, so I will explain’.

 

“Merlin. I can hardly risk having bastard children running about all over the place.” Yet Arthur looked bemused by Merlin’s comment, or perhaps his blush, or even the way Merlin had quite possibly never stuttered before in Arthur’s presence.

 

“Oh. That… I suppose that makes sense. But, not all the servants are girls… and surely… I mean the stories about the knights can’t all be rumour.” And why had he had to start off with servants, because now Merlin was back to his thoughts of himself and Arthur and how he might help with Arthur’s… problem. All in the name of sparing the others (and himself) from Arthur’s black mood, of course.

 

“No. Not all of them, I’m fairly sure the one about Sir Gawain and the stablehand is true, at least,” replied Arthur, grinning for a moment. “But I am the Prince, Merlin. And there are certain privileges my status entitles me to, that might make a servant, or a knight, feel they were obliged to…”

 

Merlin was fairly sure Arthur had only stopped because Merlin was probably looking at him like he’d suddenly grown an extra set of limbs, if his feelings were displayed as clearly on his face as they seemed to be to Arthur (when Arthur wanted to acknowledge them, at least). Merlin knew that Arthur had grown and changed since he’d started working for him, but considering Merlin’s own workload, Arthur’s words suddenly struck Merlin as incredibly noble. Noble in the way that good, caring people were noble, and not in the way that arrogant knights and members of the royal family were ‘noble’. Noble in a way that Merlin had glimpsed, that he knew to be there, but that was not often readily displayed except under the guise of doing princely things like putting his people first, where other people could see it and comment on it and where it _proved_ something, said something about Arthur’s ability to become King but not necessarily about Arthur as a person.

 

And for some reason, Merlin found he was affected almost as much by this quiet nobility, shared between friends and not for public display, as he was by the intensity of Arthur’s gaze when he spoke of something he believed in or the ripple of Arthur’s skin over toned muscle when Merlin dressed him.

 

“I wouldn’t feel obliged to do anything I didn’t want to, though.” Oh God, had he really said that? Yes, yes he had and he couldn’t take it back now but, really, he hadn’t planned on Arthur ever finding out he thought of him that way and maybe he hadn’t quite given that away completely except he must be blushing even more now, yes, and what would Arthur say now and what if he’d overstepped a line?

 

Except that suddenly the wall seemed more like a curtain, an obstacle draped heavy from floor to ceiling but one that could be drawn aside and moved through. Because Arthur wasn’t laughing – was looking at Merlin speculatively, even – but was frowning slightly as though in thought.

 

“You would tell me if there was anything you were uncomfortable with, didn’t want to do?” Merlin must be imagining things because he was almost sure there was a slight blush creeping across Arthur’s cheekbones as he waited for Merlin’s answer.

 

“When have I ever let you make me do something I didn’t want to?” Merlin retaliated, not sure if he was touched by Arthur’s concern or annoyed that Arthur should know him better by now. Arthur was still looking at him oddly, curiously, as though what Merlin was offering was extremely tempting but ultimately something Arthur couldn’t decide if he should accept or deny. Long moments stretched between them, and Merlin had been paying an awful lot of attention to his heart tonight because he was still aware of its pounding, faster now and more nervous, but strong.

 

“No. I can’t. Thank you for the offer, but it would not be fair of me to accept it.” Arthur wasn’t looking at Merlin anymore; had gone back to the fireplace and kept his back turned.

 

Merlin’s heart didn’t know whether to stop or beat louder still in anger and hurt.

 

“Why not, Arthur? I’m giving this freely, by my choice! Or am I not what you’re looking for, not good enough for you? Worst manservant and not worth shagging to boot?” Merlin knew, distantly, that he was over-reacting, but he had not been prepared for the rejection to hurt as much as it had.

 

“No,” Arthur bit out. “Don’t think that.”

 

“Then what? I may not be the most experienced in Camelot but I’m willing, and here… and I want to. If there’s something you need, I want to give you that.” And oh, Merlin was letting far too much slip past his lips tonight, because he hadn’t meant to let on quite how much he cared, either.

 

Arthur’s breathing was heavy across the room. Merlin grit his teeth against tears he would not allow to fall, he wasn’t a _girl_. His own breaths came in unsteady pulses of air into and out of his lungs.

 

“Why do you care so much?”

 

“I…” Merlin had no idea how he was supposed to answer that. “I just do, you big prat.”

 

Arthur exhaled a small chuckle at that, and Merlin sighed in relief. At least he’d said one thing right tonight.

 

“It wouldn’t be fair because.” Arthur stopped. Merlin heard the deep breath he took. And another. He had never seen Arthur so nervous; couldn’t have imagined Arthur so nervous. And in that moment, another little piece of his heart gave itself up to Arthur.

 

“Because…” Merlin got the impression even Arthur didn’t know if he could continue, but Arthur was a knight and a prince and he had too much courage (and too much of a reputation for bravery) to let a few words stop him, and Merlin knew it. He was also going to make Arthur say it because otherwise he wasn’t sure Arthur ever would.

 

“Because it’s you who makes me want this,” Arthur eventually managed. The words were rushed and unpolished, none of the charm and rhetoric of a Prince, but they also sent a thrill thrumming through Merlin at the knowledge that Arthur wanted _him_.

 

“I… care about you. More than as a servant. More than… more than as a friend,” continued Arthur. Merlin hadn’t expected that, certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to say it outright, wasn’t prepared for the vulnerable, shuttered, almost terrified look on Arthur’s face. But within a moment he had swept aside that curtain completely and moved to join Arthur by the fireplace.

 

“I… Me, too.” Merlin knew these things would rarely be said – too awkward, the both of them, how they’d even been said now was a bit of a mystery he’d probably never solve – but for Arthur, who’d taken that risk, for Arthur he could say the things that he’d only ever thought he’d say to girls until he’d realised he wasn’t actually all that attracted to them in the first place.

 

And it was awkward now, neither of them knowing what to do with the knowledge and revelations that sat between them; neither wanting to be the first to touch the other in case the touch wasn’t right because, somehow, they’d gone from talking about sex to talking about feelings and neither of them was quite sure how to get back to where they’d started and where they were pretty sure they both wanted to be. Blushing, Merlin eventually leaned towards Arthur, glancing at his mouth, deciding that Arthur had said he was… frustrated… and Merlin had offered to help so he may as well… help.

 

Arthur’s lips were chapped against his, but soft too, and warm, and it wasn’t until Arthur licked his way into Merlin’s mouth that Merlin realised he’d just assumed kissing was okay and he nearly pulled back, but then Arthur’s hand was there cupping his head and Arthur had taken the lead, suckling on Merlin’s tongue and exploring Merlin’s mouth and maybe kissing was okay after all.

 

Arthur’s strong fingers were warm against Merlin’s skin as they slipped beneath his tunic, rubbing circles against his hip that sent little tendrils of desire dancing over his flesh. They pulled apart when Arthur tried to move them and Merlin nearly fell into the fireplace; the fire had gone out now, Merlin noticed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because Arthur’s hands were on him, steadying him, and there was a heat blazing in Arthur’s eyes that Merlin hadn’t seen in them before. Arthur’s hands swiftly undid Merlin’s belt (“Although why you bother with it..” he murmured, smirking slightly) and lifted Merlin’s tunic from his skin. The pads of his fingers were calloused but soft compared to the rough fabric, and suddenly Merlin was overcome with the need to touch Arthur too, to see him, and his own fingers were shaky and clumsy where Arthur’s had been dextrous but Arthur didn’t seem to mind.

 

Merlin was torn between excitement, sheer need, and wanting to savour every detail, down to Arthur’s soft chest hair and the little scar under his rib that Merlin had seen before but that had suddenly become overtly sexual. Merlin found himself blushing again when he realised he actually really wanted to lick over all of Arthur’s scars, to map each and every one with his tongue.

 

Arthur tugged at the laces to his breeches, undoing them with fingers less steady than they had been when undoing Merlin’s belt. It hit Merlin, then, that they were really doing this; this wasn’t just a fantasy while he jerked himself off, this was real and him and Arthur - and Arthur, for all his noble words, quite clearly had far more experience than Merlin, and what was Merlin doing? He could never satisfy Arthur, could never be as good as whoever had taught Arthur well enough that he could be calm about this (or calm compared to Merlin at least, because Arthur seemed to have control of his urges to touch, kiss, stroke, and lick various exposed pieces of skin, to taste what was offered and relish it).

 

Arthur seemed to notice Merlin’s sudden tension because he stopped and pulled back almost immediately, holding Merlin’s breeches in place so they didn’t fall down but otherwise withdrawing contact completely.

 

“Merlin? If you don’t want to do this… you only have to say. I won’t hold it against you.” Arthur was looking at Merlin in that concerned, intense way that had first been the focus of Merlin’s fantasies about Arthur, and his erection twitched by Arthur’s hands.

 

“No, no I do,” Merlin hurried to say, half his mind pre-occupied with Arthur’s hands, heavy on his hips but gentle too, strong and in control but also caring and so very Arthur in the way they held him. “It’s just…”

 

Merlin didn’t seem to have to say it though, because Arthur nodded and guided him towards the bed, which was a little awkward until Merlin reluctantly took over holding his breeches up. The pair perched on the edge of Arthur’s bed, Merlin marvelling at the softness of the covers in the back of his mind. The air grew thick with tension again. Merlin cursed himself for ruining things. His cock was throbbing and he wanted Arthur’s hands back on him. Wanted Arthur’s body back under his fingers.

 

“I want to suck your cock,” blurted Arthur suddenly, desperately. Merlin shivered and blushed at just the words. He was all nervous energy, his breathing too fast and his heart too loud in his head, and he would never last, knew he couldn’t, but Arthur’s words had painted a picture in his head that left him trying not to groan at the very suggestion and wiped away any coherent thought about his own performance. And there was an edge to Arthur’s tone, fraught and longing, as though Merlin’s dick in his mouth was his most secret, precious desire and Merlin could only nod his agreement and draw Arthur in for a sloppy, filthy kiss.

 

Arthur pulled Merlin to standing long enough for his breeches to hit the floor, then pressed him back down onto the bed and stroked his thighs; cupped his cock briefly before kneeling unceremoniously between Merlin’s knees. He looked up at Merlin from hooded eyes, and Merlin swallowed a gasp when Arthur’s tongue darted out to lick so faintly against the tip of his cock. Merlin wondered distantly if perhaps Arthur was psychic, or maybe he was rambling aloud more than he realised, because Arthur seemed to know that Merlin would come in seconds if he kept on, and turned his head instead to nuzzle at Merlin’s thighs and lick and suckle on the sensitive skin there. Merlin was trembling under Arthur’s mouth, but Arthur’s hands stroked his outer thighs gently, soothingly, except that it sent swirls of heat to build in Merlin’s belly, too.

 

Merlin whimpered when Arthur turned back to run the tip of his nose along the length of Merlin’s cock, letting his breath ghost over it. Arthur sighed happily after he inhaled, and Merlin didn’t quite understand why, but then his dick was in Arthur’s mouth and the warmth and wetness and the little vibrations when Arthur hummed in satisfaction made him forget what he was thinking. Arthur’s tongue flicked over the head of Merlin’s cock as Arthur drew back, and then again but this time the sensation was smooth and silky, from the underside of Arthur’s tongue. Merlin blushed when he looked down to see Arthur’s eyes closed, his face open and pleased, looking obscene and beautiful as he took Merlin’s cock into his mouth again. And then Arthur hummed again, the sound almost a groan but speaking clearly of pleasure, of satisfaction, of joy and of relief, even, and Merlin had no defences against that and was coming hard down Arthur’s throat before he’d had a chance to warn Arthur. But Arthur only hummed again, swallowing greedily before lapping at the sticky opalescent liquid that had escaped, seeming almost desperate to drink up every last drop that had spurted from Merlin and licking his lips before he was done.

 

“You,” panted Arthur. “You taste…” And Merlin was blushing again, his face hotter than he thought it had been all evening, but Arthur looked like the one who’d been on the receiving end of what Merlin thought had to be a spectacular blow job. Even as Merlin realised that Arthur hadn’t come yet, Arthur’s hand was moving almost mindlessly against his own cock, until Arthur shuddered and came too, staining the inside of his breeches.  
  



End file.
